


The Fishing Trip

by indigo_violet



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends, Fluff and Angst, M/M, there's romance if you squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-12-30 04:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18307952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_violet/pseuds/indigo_violet
Summary: Washington drags Hamilton and Jefferson on a fishing trip, partly to escape a New York heatwave and partly to try and force the two best minds in his cabinet to actually get on, for once. The results aren't quite what he's expecting.





	1. Summer in the City

**Author's Note:**

> (After many years of lurking I'm finally actually posting something to AO3. Eek!)
> 
> There's an apocryphal story that Jefferson and Hamilton once took Washington on a fishing trip. True or not, I've borrowed the story and changed it massively for my own purposes. Enjoy!
> 
> This may or may not end up being part of a longer series, we shall see.

It’s a blisteringly hot summers’ day, just past noon, and the sun’s dancing into the room through the windows, latched shut to let the air conditioning do its feeble work. Adams has been invited to cabinet to present some make-work piece of research – infrastructure, possibly – and he’s droning on and on. Alex is too hot and bored to pay attention. He fans himself with a sheaf of papers and wonders when Adams will have the decency to stop talking.

“The overall quality of this nation’s roads can only be described as poor, a persistent lack of funding combined with unrepaired damage from the war has resulted in….”

Washington’s listening with polite attention. Randolph’s writing something down – not, Alex supposes, anything to do with the drivel Adams is spouting. Knox is quite possibly asleep, or else resting his eyes. Jefferson’s expression makes him look like he wants to die, which is convenient because if this goes on much longer Alex is going to want to kill someone. He can feel sweat beading on his neck. At least his office has a fan, blowing sweet, cold air.

Finally, mercifully, Adams ends his presentation. At the sudden absence of his voice Knox starts awake.

“Oh. Did I miss anything?”

“Nothing important,” says Alex drily. “Thank you, Mr Vice President, for that riveting talk on the merits of asphalt.”

“Thank you, John,” says Washington pointedly, with an exasperated glance in Alex’s direction. “Is there any other business for today?”

Nobody says anything. They’re clearly all as keen to get out of this horrendous sauna of a room as Alex is.

“Well in that case,” Washington gets to his feet, “meeting adjourned. I’ll see you all Monday.”

Alex is just packing up his papers when Washington says “Hamilton, a word? You too, Secretary Jefferson. Just stay behind a minute, will you…”

He might be imagining it, but it looks like Randolph and Knox all but flee the room at that. _For god’s sake, what have we done now?_ Him and Jefferson have been, well, _civil_ the last few days. There’s nothing Washington could possibly want to admonish them for.

Adams lingers for a minute, smirks. “Trouble in the cabinet again? Really, it’s quite extraordinary.”

“That will be all, John,” Washington says stiffly. Adams takes the hint and leaves.

Jefferson glares at Alex as if to say _whatever this is, it’s all your fault._ He sits back down in his chair – Alex moves to the window to try and catch a breath of air.

As soon as the door shuts behind Adams Washington sighs and runs his hands over his face. “I wish we didn’t have to hold these meetings. Especially not in this weather, in this building – what would it cost, to get some decent AC in here?”

Alex sincerely hopes that’s a rhetorical question and he isn’t expected to answer it. _More money than is in the treasury, probably, not that that’s hard._

“I need a holiday,” Washington muses. “So do the two of you, come to think of it. When was the last time you had a day off, Thomas?”

Jefferson squirms. “I, erm… a while, sir, I would say.” His hair’s frizzing up in the humidity. It’s actually quite funny. Jefferson glances over at him, realises he’s noticed and pats it down furiously.  

“Alexander?”

Washington’s turned the question to him. Alex just blinks at him.

Washington glances between them for a second. “That settles it. I’m going fishing this weekend. I want to actually enjoy this weather for a chance, and get out of the damn city. And you’re both coming with me.”

There’s a brief silence, as Alex and Jefferson first look at Washington, then at each other, in horror. Then-

“With respect, sir-”

“-got so much work to do-”

“-certainly had other plans-“

“-you’re asking me to spend the weekend with _him_ -”

“-three days in Secretary Hamilton’s company-”

“-don’t even know how to fish-”

Washington holds up a hand to silence them. “Enough. The time away from New York and the demands of work will do you good. And maybe the pair of you will be able to _bond_ a little, cause a few fewer non-stories in the papers about your squabbling, hmm?”

Jefferson looks at Washington with barely concealed disdain. “Bond?” says Alex dubiously. His gaze flickers over to Jefferson again – pompous, insufferable Jefferson.

“We’ll go to my cabin in Vermont,” says Washington. “It’s a lovely little spot, very secluded, no phone signal, even…” _sweet Jesus kill me now._

Jefferson purses his lips. “Mr President, this is highly irregular. If you’d like me to take the weekend off, I’d far sooner go down to Monticello, take some time for myself.”

“And I… could, see people. In New York. Lots of friends, haven’t seen them in, y’know, a while…”

But Washington’s face brokers no argument. “This is an order, to both of you. Think of it as a work retreat.”

“With no work,” Alex points out.

“Some time to bond. With colleagues. I’ll pick you both up from your houses this evening, if I can convince the Secret Service to let me drive, for once…”

There’s no getting out of this, Alex realises with a sinking feeling. _God damn it._

They leave together, Alex and Jefferson. Jefferson is fuming, which is some small consolation.

“If you’d just behave,” Jefferson drawls, “even occasionally, the President wouldn’t think we hate each other so.”

“We do hate each other,” Alex points out. “And you’re the one who starts it! Round about half the time.” It’s true: their cabinet clashes are legendary, though Alex highly doubts it’s casting a shadow on the administration. And Jefferson is, at the end of the day, a huge dick, who deserves to be yelled at from time to time.

“Well, you’ve ruined my weekend, Hamilton, so congratulations. If you don’t mind, I need to go home and pack some sort of… fishing gear. At least I won’t be a total fish out of water. Have you ever even set foot in the countryside, Hamilton? It might be a little frightening for a city boy like you.”

“I was in the fucking army, you moron.” Alex is fully aware that Jefferson’s baiting him, but his condescending sneer’s winding him up and he can’t help it. “Unlike some people I could mention.”

“Was it very scary, writing all those letters for Wash-”

Alex never found out what Jefferson was about to say because at that moment he made the decision to shove him into a wall. For a man a good half a foot taller than him he’s surprisingly easy to move. It’s gratifying to know which of them would win in a fight – not that Alex had ever been in any doubt over that.

“Fuck you,” says Jefferson eloquently. Alex just smirks and stalks off down the corridor. Jefferson, frustratingly enough, has raised a valid point – unless he wants to show up in full army fatigues, he has literally nothing suitable to wear.

* * *

 

There’s an outdoors store a few stops up from Alex’s apartment on the metro so he goes there on the way home. Shorts aren’t exactly something Alex likes to wear – he’ll suffer through in jeans, no matter how hot it gets. The occasion calls for them now though, and he’ll also need – ugh – rubber boots.

Walking in, he’s at least grateful that Washington has a lodge and they aren’t camping. The idea of being stuck in a tent with those two is frankly nauseating, and would probably end in someone being clubbed to death. He’s looking through a rack of cargo shorts, each pair seemingly more hideous than the last, when – _shit_.

Angelica’s just a few feet in front of him, beyond the shorts, and she’s clearly already seen him. He looks down, desperately trying to pretend he’s oblivious to her presence, but it’s too late. He looks up and smiles wanly. She’s carrying a basket full of what looks like portable cutlery.

“Angie. Hey. You’re… looking well.”

“It’s Angelica to you. What are you doing here?”

He swallows. “Going fishing this weekend. You?”

“I’m taking Eliza camping in a few weeks,” Angelica says pointedly. “Thought it would be good for her to get out of the city.”

“I see.” There’s a heavy silence. “Angie, look, I really am, so, so, sorry…”

“I’m not the one you need to be saying that to. And for the record? She isn’t interested.”

“I know I fucked up, I know, I just, I just want to talk to her, properly, without, without…” _Eliza crying and me panicking and trying to make it better and making it so, so much worse…_ “now some time has passed.”

Angelica gives him a look that’s almost pitying. “There’s no getting away from what you did, Alex.”

“I know that, all I’m asking for is…”

“A second chance? Do you really believe you deserve that?”

Alex doesn’t have a good answer to that. Angelica shakes her head and hoists the basket onto her arm. “Goodbye, Alex.”

“Wait, Angie, just… tell her I love her, will you?”

“And why the hell would I do that?”

And then she’s gone. There’s a lump in Alex’s throat which he fights down. He shakes himself, passes a hand over his eyes. There’s nothing to be done now.

He finds everything he needs, pays and heads home, towards the boredom the weekend promises to be.


	2. We're Running a Real Nation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hamilton and Jefferson spar and Washington really ought to be regretting his choices.

Washington’s Mercedes is parked outside his apartment – Alex can see it from his window. It’s incongruous, somehow – it’s not that Alex’s apartment is in a rough part of the city and that the car itself is out of place, it’s more that it feels as though Washington’s presence is intruding on his home life, not that he can really call it that anymore. These two things shouldn’t mix, and yet here he is.

Alex swings his holdall over his shoulder, steels himself and heads down the stairs.

Washington smiles at him warmly as he approaches the car and actually gets out to open the truck, like some kind of cab driver. It’s weird, not least because there isn’t a Secret Service agent in sight. If there was some lunatic across the street with a gun, or a Loyalist… Alex is already regretting leaving his own pistol in a drawer in his study.

“Ready?” asks Washington. He clearly notices Alex’s apprehension because he laughs. “This is going to be fun, son. It feels like so long since we’ve actually been able to spend time together outside of work…”

“And for good reason, sir,” Alex says stiffly. “I serve at the pleasure of the President, I work for you, sir.”

Washington shakes his head slightly. “As you will, Alexander. You’ll be taking the front seat, I assume? Can’t let Jefferson take it, can we?”

“Of course, sir.” It’s not like he’s going to let Jefferson take it. Damn Washington, for playing his rivalry with Jefferson like it’s some in-joke between them. Besides, who wouldn’t want the front seat, if given the option?

They talk, about politics, the Treasury, the ongoing talks with France (“they’re mad, the lot of them, especially this Robespierre fellow…”). They don’t talk about Eliza, though Alex can feel the question hanging over him. Washington knows they’ve split up, and Alex is sure he must know why, it was all over the tabloids, even though they’ve never discussed it. He doesn’t want Washington’s advice, and he sure as hell doesn’t want his sympathy.

Not that he’d get it. Washington’s nothing if not morally rigid. The thought of having warranted his disapproval, though, is even worse. He resolves to put the matter out of his mind.

They pick up Jefferson from the suburban townhouse he’s renting until the capitol gets relocated somewhere presumably further south. It’s still horrifically upscale, and given land prices and the like probably worth more than Monticello. Alex has never actually seen it in person, and it reeks of wealth in the way he knew it would. Jefferson’s sporting two matching suitcases, and Alex has to stifle a laugh. So much for the hardened outdoorsman.

“This is inequitable,” Jefferson whines he opens the door to slide into the back. “I’m taller than Hamilton. I need the legroom.”

“Got there first, didn’t I?” Hamilton raises an eyebrow. “You’ll have to get over it.”

“Can the two of you please just be adults for _once_ ,” says Washington sardonically. “It hardly seems much to ask.”

“Jefferson started it,” Alex points out, not inaccurately.

Washington pinches the bridge of him nose. “Just… let me drive in peace, please.”

It occurs to Alex that if Washington’s made to regret this idea quickly enough he might drop it. He quickly dismisses that idea – there was no reason to sour Washington against him, and he clearly needs the break; pissing him off will do nothing for his patience or his health. He resolves to be quiet for at least a part of the journey, and wishes he hadn’t left the papers he’d snuck with him to read in his holdall.

He passes the first half of the journey instead on Twitter – he hasn’t had a good few hours recently to really let rip at some of the utter morons cluttering his mentions. He’s just finished telling some guy why taxes aren’t actually the _literal work of the devil_ when Jefferson pipes up.

“Might we stop for a bite to eat? I had an early lunch and I’m starving.”

Alex, who probably eats about six times a week can’t relate to this, but Washington nods in agreement and they pull off at the first roadside eatery they come to, which turns out to be a traditional roadside diner. _The President, the Secretary of State and the Secretary of the Treasury walk into a diner…_ To his frustration, there’s no satisfying ending to that joke Alex can come up with.

The waitress at the door who seats them looks like her eyes are about to fall out of her skull, she’s so startled to see them. They take a booth by the window, as far away from prying eyes as possible. It mercifully isn’t busy.

“You know,” says Jefferson thoughtfully, “I don’t think I’ve ever been in one of these before.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “Of course you haven’t. Us peasants have to eat as well, you know. Occasionally we even like to go out, and take a break from our usual gruel.”

“I wasn’t being judgemental, Hamilton. I was merely saying. It’s a fine establishment.” Damn him for sounding so reasonable. Although, there’s something slightly endearing about the way he looks around the diner, like he’s come there from another planet.

_Endearing? Jesus Christ, Alex. Get a grip._

“I used to work in a place like this,” Alex says tentatively, offering a rare piece of information about himself. “On Nevis. And again at Columbia. Needed to,” _feed myself_ , “make a bit of extra money somehow.” Nobody, let alone these two men, can know how badly he struggled in those days. Even Washington, who must have some idea by now.

The waitress comes to take their order. For Washington, a beef burger. For Alex, the same, but with extra fries and a chocolate milkshake. For Jefferson – mac and cheese. Of course.

“Do you only eat one thing?” asks Alex once the waitress has left. “Whenever you bring in lunch to work, it’s always mac and cheese, you always request it be served at functions, hell, you had those mac and cheese canapes at that State department reception.”

Jefferson shrugs. “It reassures me. Though for your information no, I don’t exclusively eat mac and cheese. That would be decidedly odd.”

Alex realises, not without some frustration, that they’ve just had what could only be described as a _civil exchange_. It doesn’t last long of course, as Jefferson elects to shoehorn in “I made those canapes myself, naturally. Can’t be wasting federal money on such frivolities.”

“Oh, don’t be absurd. The cost would be negligible – and frivolities? Really? Like it or not, as in any business governments must sometimes win over the powerful and influential. Good hospitality aids diplomacy. Surely hailing from the south you must know that?”

“And what would you say, to the struggling factory workers of Pennsylvania? ‘Oh, well, the federal government wants 30% of the pittance you’re making, but don’t worry, a Swedish diplomat’s going to get some really nice _mini quiches_ out of it.”

“Like you care about the working classes. Or classes other than your cronies, for that matter.”

“I’d advise you to remind yourself of which party you represent, Secretary Hamilton, and which party the working classes of this country overwhelmingly support. Because I’ll tell you this, it’s not yours!”

Washington coughs pointedly and Alex realises they’ve been shouting. More to the point, everybody in the restaurant is watching them. A single camera flashes.

The waitress brings them their food without a word.

“Well done,” hisses Washington under his breath. “You both did yourselves proud there. And to think, these people trust you to run their country! Is this some game to you? Some childish spat over whose philosophies are the best? This is a real country, with real people, who are counting on us to make their lives better. Get a grip, both of you.”

Alex doesn’t respond. But there’s a part of him that feels more exhilarated than he has in a long while. He likes sparring with people, especially likes sparring with Jefferson. And in public like this – why should he be ashamed of what he believes, ashamed of standing up for his values where the world can hear?

Jefferson’s concentrating meticulously on his mac and cheese. _Now there’s one that doesn’t like the spotlight._ He’s been tipped for a presidential run so many times – but how would he handle the scrutiny? The man can barely make a speech. Losing his cool and shouting in an honest-to-god _public space, with strangers around_ seems to have spooked him. He has an overwhelming desire to put a consoling hand on his shoulder. He fights it down and decides not to analyse that too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying this so far please comment and let me know :)


	3. Washington On Your Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson is unbelievably done, and Alex gets a reality check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than expected - apologies! It's been a hell of a week (but I did get some very exciting news this week about an internship I applied for, which is super cool!) Thank you for reading :)

They arrive at Washington’s cabin after dark. It’s eerily silent as they get out of the car – the only thing Alex can hear is the chirping of cicadas. It’s unnerving.

They fetch their bags from the trunk. Alex can’t see much of the cabin in the gloom, but Washington seems to know where he’s going as he leads them to the door and unlocks it.

The place is traditionally, cosily furnished – there’s a fireplace in the middle of the room that they certainly won’t have any call for, and cushy sofas draped with tartan blankets, as well as a little kitchenette in the corner. A rickety set of stairs leads up to, presumably, the bedrooms.

Washington smiles. He looks truly at peace, for once. “It’s good to be back,” he says wistfully, kicking off his shoes with a level of informality I’ve never seem from him. Jefferson’s standing ramrod straight as if he’s afraid to brush against anything in the cabin.

Washington leads them upstairs, motions to the first door on the little landing. “That’s the master bedroom,” he says. “That there’s the bathroom, and here…” he opens the third door along, “is your bedroom.”

It’s small but functional, two overstuffed twin beds with only a bedstand nestled between them. Jefferson turns to Washington to ask the fatal question just as Alex realises the situation.

“So, where will Hamilton be sleeping?”

Washington’s brow furrows. “There’s only two bedrooms, Thomas. Is that a problem?”

Jefferson’s face is a picture of fury and disgust. It’s so hilarious that Alex smiles sweetly at Washington.

“That won’t be a problem at all! Will it, Thomas?”

Jefferson glowers at him. “No,” he says through gritted teeth. “Not a problem at all.”

“Fantastic,” says Washington. “Well, I for one an exhausted. I’ll see you both tomorrow. Do let me know if you need anything.”

He shuts the door behind him. Alex and Jefferson regard each other warily.

“I blame you for this,” Jefferson says bitterly, flopping down onto his front on one of the beds. Alex jumps onto the other and sits cross-legged, beaming at him.

“Oh, I don’t know, Thomas. This could be fun!”

“Don’t call me Thomas. It makes us sound like we’re…”

“We’re what?”

“Friends.” Jefferson’s buried his face in the blankets of his bed, so the word comes out muffled.

Alex snorts. “Don’t worry. That’s very much not on the cards.”

“I just need to get through two nights,” Jefferson says as though to himself. “And then I’m done with this torture.”

“I’d have thought fishing was right up your street?”

“You’re the torture, Hamilton. Every second spent in your company physically pains me.”

“Why?” He’s goading him now; even the idea of pissing him off is exhilarating. “Why am I so terrible, Thomas? Hmm?”

Jefferson rolls his eyes. “Shall I list the ways you frustrate me, Secretary Hamilton? Is that really what you want?”

Alex shrugs. “That could be fun.”

With a sigh, Jefferson rolls onto his back. “Fine. You’re horrifically persistent, you’re completely tactless-”

“ _I’m_ the tactless one?”

“You have no respect for authority-”

“You, buddy, don’t count as authority,”

“You _interrupt me all the time_ , you’re arrogant, reckless, naïve, you have no respect for the traditions and values of this country, you’re argumentative, stubborn, your voice is frankly grating and worst of all, you refuse to cooperate with anything I try and do, just for your own petty bragging rights. That cover it for you?”

“Very nicely. For the record, I take most of those to be positive traits.”

Jefferson groans, swings out of bed and picks up one of his suitcases. “You, Alexander Hamilton, are _insufferable_. I’m going to change in the bathroom, and then I’m going to bed.” He stalks out of the room, letting the door slam behind him.

While he’s gone Alex pulls on an old t-shirt and jogging bottoms, and brushes his teeth in the basin in the corner of the room that looks like an antique – you can tell how old this cabin is, just from that. Frustratingly and inexplicably, Jefferson’s words are nagging at him. They’ve always been rivals, they’ve always hated each other on principle. But hearing Jefferson take him apart like that, attributing his hatred to specific traits of Alex’s… it’s unsettling. Sure, he hates how pompous Jefferson is, how full of himself he is, his disdain for the working classes… But’s it’s never felt that personal, that specific. It’s a tad hurtful, if he’s being honest with himself.

Alex draws his covers over him and is on his phone (the room has two solitary plug sockets so he can charge the damn thing, thank god) before Jefferson comes back. He slips into his own bed without a word. The only light in the room is the lamp on the bedstand – Alex’s phone aside – which Jefferson promptly switches off.

“Hey,” says Alex indignantly. “I’m still awake.”

“Then go to sleep.” Jefferson rolls over and doesn’t say another word.

Alex isn’t even slightly tired, so he flicks idly through his phone, plugs in his headphones to distract from the quiet of the place. He texts Lafayette, who responds with a curt “it’s four in the morning, Alexander, let me sleep.” He texts Mulligan, who doesn’t reply. He almost texts John, _no, don’t go there Alex._

He texts Burr.

AB: What do you want?

AH: Bored

AB: how is that my problem

AB: I hear you’ve gone to maine

AH: Vermont

AH: it’s the worst

AH: Jefferson is pretending to be asleep 6 ft away from me

AB: lol

AB: have fun

AH: no im so bored

AH: please talk to me

AB: how does that benefit me

AH: you get the pleasure of my conversation

That last text doesn’t send. He belatedly remembers what Washington said about the lack of phone signal at the cabin. He slams his phone down on the bedstand, then quickly picks it up again, too wired to even consider sleeping.

“Shut up,” Jefferson mumbles from across the room.

“I’m not talking.”

“You’re… fidgeting. It’s annoying.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry my presence is so inconvenient to you.”

Jefferson pulls the blankets over his head like a petulant child and doesn’t respond.

Alex tries lying in the dark for a few minutes, but it’s no good. He throws on a pair of shoes and slips out of the room.

The lamps downstairs are on, and he can see through the glass porch doors at the back of the cabin – clearly a new edition, down to the lake, illuminated by the light of the halogen bulbs. Washington’s out there, perched on a rocking chair, a lit cigarette in his fingers. He goes to join him.

Washington nods at him amicably as he steps outside, breathes in the cool Vermont air, refreshing after the stifling heat of the city. The cicadas are still chirping. There’s something vaguely ominous about the sound.

“I thought you were tired, sir,” he says, maybe a tad more informally than he intends.

Washington takes a drag of the cigarette. “Insomnia,” he says. “I’m afflicted from time to time. Couldn’t you sleep?”

“I wasn’t really tired.”

“No,” says Washington with sad amusement. “I suppose you wouldn’t normally sleep until, what – three hours from now?”

“Something like that.”

Washington shakes his head. “It’s kill you. Working that hard.”

“With respect, sir, I can look after myself.”

“Naturally. But it never did anyone any harm to have someone looking out for their welfare.”

This has always been a desire of Washington’s, to _look out for him._ He can’t understand what it is about his demeanour that makes Washington think this. Does he come across as weak? Vulnerable? He feels he’s always behaved – well, mostly behaved – with a quiet composure around Washington. Why does the man think he needs protecting? And from what?

“I know you and Secretary Jefferson… don’t exactly get on,” Washington begins hesitantly. “And believe me, I’ve seen enough of your fallings out. But like it or not this country needs us, Alexander. And infighting doesn’t help us in serving the people. And that, at the end of the day, is what we’re for.”

Washington sounds a little like a broken record, but Alex knows he had a point. “But what if Jefferson – Secretary Jefferson’s – ideas are damaging to those very people, sir? Are we supposed to sit idly by and allow him to take this country down a ruinous path, for the sake of bipartisanship? The United States needs us to form it, sir, it needs guidance if we’re to prosper. Where’s the sense in allowing Jefferson to ruin all our hard work, to destroy the federal institutions we’re putting into place?”

“Every time you fight him, you make more enemies, Alexander. You need to be less… vocal." He sighs. "I'm on your side here, son. Channel your frustrations into defeating his bills, into taking down his policy proposals in the Department of State. Not taking him down verbally in a cabinet room. Those moments always leak to the press. And it damages us. It damages cooperation in congress, your mutual enmity trickles down to the parties you lead. We’re setting precedents, Alex.” Washington stubs out his cigarette, looks him dead in the eye. “Our work is too important for petty squabbling.”

The two of them look out in silence, over the lake, which stretches as far as Alex can see in the gloom. A strange feeling of calmness has set upon him. He wonders if he can translate that, tomorrow, into what Washington’s asking him to do.

Later, lying back in bed upstairs, his text to Burr still hasn’t sent. He doesn’t worry about it. He curls up in the narrow bed and lets sleep take him, his mind running with thoughts of the Treasury, Congress, Washington, and Jefferson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again!! Do leave a comment, they mean the world to receive :D

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! :)


End file.
